I discover over the next few days that Enola is the real mistress of this house, Sherlock and Mycroft had both left home seemingly for good when their mother had left leaving her mistress of the whole estate. However it was important for Mycroft to have a country estate to fall back on, and he had appropriate the house for his own uses. Enola had moved back in order to stop him removing all traces of their mother from the house, and now acted as chatelaine.
The boxes she kept bringing to our prison contained Sherlock's various belongings, from both his childhood and apparently his flat in Montague place. Mycroft had insisted most of his belongings be destroyed but Enola felt that this should be Sherlock's decision when strong enough, and enlisted my help in removing any traces of narcotics from these boxes, and then storing them ready for her brothers return to health.
In these few short days, I have come to like Enola, as frighteningly sharp as her brothers, she has a warmth that is so far lacking in my dealing with her brothers, she is also genuinely concerned about Sherlock. A feeling that I share. Cold Turkey Acute Withdrawal symptoms can take anything from a day to a month of agitated, cold sweats, screaming nightmares and body cramps. Sherlock's have been going on for 10 days with no signs of lessening. Admittedly I keep sedating him, which seems to be slowing the process, but after day three where he tore his fingers bloody literally climbing the walls. I think that's a necessary precaution.
Sedated he lies in bed, staring up at the ceiling, his eyes wide but his breathing and heart rate slow and calm. When he sleeps properly which is rare, he moans and writhes and I wonder what horrors he is reliving. I asked Enola what Sherlock actually did, and she told me he was an MSC in Chemistry with a fascination for crime. Apparently he would go and stand by crime scenes and just know who had committed the crime and why. Enola calls it deductive reasoning, and says it's genetic. A fact I highly doubt. She tells me that both she and Mycroft can do it as well, but it is a skill that needs regular honing and practice.
Enola suggested that maybe I should take some of her simpler cases to Sherlock, she herself takes on a number of Private Investigations, and seemingly with too many for one person, who also had a massive estate to manage, she would be happy for another Holmesian eye. So here I am sitting on the end of Sherlock's bed, trying not to fuss over my heavily sweating and occasionally retching patient, while his eyes roam over police reports and crime scene photos from a rather gruesome burglary. I am not squeamish, nothing would normally make by stomach turn, but the pictures of an empty living room, devoid of television furniture, pictures or ornaments, containing just an eviscerated giraffe, is giving me a distinctly green hue.
"Novel!" my patient exclaims, flicking through the crime scene photos
"Novel?" I query
"Well yes, a giraffe" he throws me the head shot again, "look at that, I mean the case is childishly obvious, but I don't think I'll ever come across another giraffe bomb, used to such good effect"
Suddenly he, grabs a pen from his side table, and scribbles a hasty note.
"Ensure my sister gets this" he says thrusting it into my hand "and tell her I'd appreciate something slightly harder next time"
I notice as I take my note and accept the subtle dismissal that some colour is returning to his cheeks, and there is a glow to his usually dull eyes. Maybe this is what he needs to bring him out of his withdrawal, I think, maybe we have really turned a corner.
As I close his bedroom door, and walk across the living room I look at the note, smiling and then realise I have no idea how he has come to this conclusion.
If the brother has a yellow ladder, arrest the brother
"Brilliant" I breathe.